Folklore
by kototyph
Summary: Looking to escape boredom, the nations begin to tell fairy and folk tales from their native lands... rated T for violence, sexual situations, and explicit language---in fairy tales! First up, Italy.
1. Introduction: England, You Fairy

**FOLKLORE  
Introduction: England, You Fairy  
larussophile  
» Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia  
» Rating: T  
» On Going(WIP)/One-off/Series: WIP  
» Classification(s): Humor, Supernatural…Romance?  
» Warnings: Violence, Language, Sexual Situations… in fairy tales!  
» Pairing(s): This is all good, clean fun… but since you asked, France/England/Canada, America/Russia, Italy/Germany. Go G8!**

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England was sparkling again.

It had been growing more and more noticeable throughout Alfred's (heroic) presentation, but when Germany batted a floating spangle away from his face and Italy started trying the catch them, he'd had enough. He'd had seen that twinkling, glazed stare and spacey smile enough times to know _exactly _what was going on in Arthur's normally oh-so-straightforward mind.

With a perfect arc, the eraser hit the nation square between the bushy eyebrows, and a cloud of chalk enveloped his head. Coughing and waving blindly, Arthur bleated out, "Bloody hell!"

"Stop talking to your imaginary friends when I'm being amazing!" Alfred whined (heroically).

The Brit glared, rubbing his forehead. "They're just as real as, (cough) you, blockhead, and about (cough, cough) five times as (cough, cough, ah-CHOO) interesting!"

Kiku pushed his (fake but stylish) glasses up his nose and said without looking up from his briefing, "_Yokai_ are not real, Kirkland-san."

"Yeah!" said Alfred triumphantly. "What he said!"

Arthur leveled a finger at other seven seated around the table. "The lot of you have (cough) no imagination! None at all!"

"I think I am glad, _mon ami_, that I do not have your 'imagination'," Francis said, tapping out his cigarette into the ashtray. "To see _les fées_ everywhere, it makes you look, how do you say? _Totallement_ bugfuck."

Arthur sputtered.

"I believe you, Arthur," offered a smiling Ivan.

"Er, thanks," said the nation.

"After all, _eto pravina, shto_ people are still smothered to death by angry _domoviye_ every year," the Russian continued with the same bright smile.

"Is that right...?" Arthur murmured, subtly edging away from the other nation.

"Then I'll tell a fairy tale!" Alfred said excitedly. "After all, I'm the leader!"

"Wait, what?" Arthur said, confused.

"I have plenty of imagination, and so do my people! We've got fairy tales up the whazoo! And since I'm the leader, I should tell one!"

"How did fairy tales get in there?"

"You need imagination to tell them, duh." Alfred rolled his eyes.

"_Eigentlich_," Ludwig rumbled. "Italy is."

"What?"

"His boss is the president of the G8 this year, _ja_? So Feliciano is the leader."

"Eh?" the Italian said, brought out of his own (pasta-licious) daydream. "What?"

"_Oui_, Feliciano, tell us a fairy story," Francis said quickly, thoroughly bored with the proceedings up to this point.

Feliciano blinked. "A story? _Perché_?"

"Arthur is being annoying. He says we have no imagination, and so Alfred wants us to tell stories."

"We don't have to tell stories!" Arthur interjected quickly, a pleading note in his voice. "Let's just get on with the meeting, shall we?"

Unfortunately for his attempt at salvaging the day's work, Feliciano didn't appear to hear him. "_Ve~…"_

"Go on," urged Francis.

Feliciano appeared deep in thought, curl quivering in concentration. His eyes lit up. "Ah! This one time, I made a bowl of _ragù alla bolognese_ SOOO big that—" He was stopped by Francis's shaking head.

"_Non, mon petit, _a fairy story. _Une conte des fées, tu comprends_?"

"I could tell one," Matthew offered, softly. "My boss will be president next, after Italy's."

"Who said that?" Kiku stared around quizzically.

"I'm Canada," Matthew sighed, for all intents and purposes to himself.

"I've got one!" Feliciano suddenly exclaimed. "It's about a girl!"

"Oh?" said Arthur.

"She was _una contadina_, a peasant girl!"

"Yes?"

"Her parents were peasants too!"

"That's the least imaginative beginning to a fairy tale I've ever heard," Arthur grumbled.

"When she laughed pomegranate seeds fell out, and when she washed her hands fish jumped out!"

"Oh, I want to hear this," Francis smirked, leaning in on his elbows as Arthur gaped.

"It's called, 'The Peasant Girl and the Golden Snake'!"

"What does that have to do with pomegranate seeds…?" Ludwig wondered out loud, but Feliciano was already going on.

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Author's Corner:

Should I include translations of all the foreign words? I like to think they're understandable in context… or not. Let me know after the next chapter. Yes! There is already a next chapter!


	2. Chapter 1: Sweet, Beautiful, Pure!

**FOLKLORE  
Chapter One: Sweet, Beautiful, Pure! (Italy)  
larussophile**

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**

"Why are we doing this?" Matthew asked, plaintively.

Alfred looked around, puzzled. "Did someone say something?"

"It's _Canada_," Matthew answered gloomily, but no one heard him.

An energetic Feliciano and a Francis desperate for entertainment, any entertainment, had seen them move from the conference table and into the anteroom, where there was a fireplace, hideous red Rococo wallpaper, overstuffed sofas and chintzes, and most importantly, the liquor cabinet.

Everyone took a seat and Francis poured (mostly for himself). Feliciano stood in the midst of the couches and announced, "_Bene, bene,_ I'll start!" Ludwig put a booted foot on the coffee table and moved it out of the way as Italian twirled in place to beam at each of his audience members.

"_C'era una volta_, once upon a time, there was a young girl sooo pretty and sooooo pure that her parents called her Biancabella, Little White Beauty."

"What a horrible name," Arthur groused into his glass of port.

"_La ferme, Angleterre,_" Francis said mildly, draped bonelessly over a loveseat.

"Your mum, wine bastard," he muttered back, but he was quiet after. Feliciano went on.

"This girl, so bright, so beautiful, she was the joy of her poor, poor parents, who had two older girls besides. But they were so poor, and so hungry! They never had enough money to buy rotini or linguine or macaroni or rigatoni or even orzo! What a horrible life!" Feliciano seemed practically driven to tears by his own words. "Ah, _triste!_

"On day, as they searched the forest for some berries, roots, the tiniest little nut to eat, the three sisters came upon a little golden snake. The oldest two, they screamed and ran, but _la bambina _Biancabella, she knew the snake meant no harm."

"Was she a Parseltongue, then?" asked Arthur, suddenly interested.

"Those aren't real, either," Kiku asserted disinterestedly, picking a piece of invisible lint off his spotless uniform. He was drinking hot tea that steamed gently.

"Noooo! I'm still waiting for my letter!" cried Alfred, hands over his ears.

"_Vos gueules_!" growled Francis.

Feliciano wasn't paying attention to any of it. He crouched down as if to address the hedge-hog-shaped footstool. "'Dear snake! If only my sisters would come close enough, they would see you are harmless, and also very beautiful!' 'Clever child!', said the snake, 'For your wisdom, you will be rewarded thrice over!'

"'First, your sorrow will bring you riches, tears of the ocean and of the earth!'"

"The _hell_?" grumbled Arthur.

"'Second, your joy will sow Persephone's bane!'"

"Pomegranate seeds," Francis translated for a bemused Alfred, who sat with a Coke dangling from between two fingers.

"'Third, your purity will strengthen and nourish you!'"

"Nourish…? Ah, the fish," Ivan reasoned aloud. To no one's surprise, he had appropriated an entire bottle of Russki Standart and was courteously measuring out several shots for the assembled. "_Amerika_ and ghost-boy, you'll drink with me, _da?_"

"No," said Alfred rudely, but when he was distracted by Feliciano's increasingly comic gestures, Ivan dumped rather more than a shot into his soda.

"And the snake went away," Feliciano continued, spinning as he wiggled his arm to simulate the slithery movements. "Biancabella went home.

"She arrived just as her poor, poor parents were about to serve their meager supper of one strand of spaghetti. So sad!"

"Er," said Matthew, to the sudden appearance of a third of vodka in his hand. "Just a… little, then?"

"_Quelle dommage," _Francis commiserated with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a swallowed laugh; Feliciano didn't catch it, but Ludwig, sitting ramrod straight on his short pink ottoman, glared at him.

"The sensitive and beautiful Biancabella wept at the thought of her family so hungry, so poor! But her tears turned to pearls and silver on her cheeks, and all the family marveled!"

"How odd," murmured Kiku.

"She laughed in surprise, and pomegranate seeds fell out and sprouted in the floor, making beautiful trees!"

"Awesome!" exclaimed Alfred. He took a healthy swig from his bottle.

"And she went to wash her hands in the basin for their meager dinner, and fish splashed out onto the floor!"

"How nice. _Za_ _skaskikh_!" said Ivan with his serene smile, and knocked his glass with Matthew's.

"Her family was overjoyed! Now, they could eat their fill!"

"Uh, zaskakih," Matthew repeated, dubiously. He swallowed with a pained expression. Ivan refilled his glass immediately.

"Are you sure you will not drink with us_, tovarish_?" Ivan asked Alfred solicitously as he poured. Two thirds of the Coke was gone, and the American's cheeks were becoming suspiciously pink.

"No, thanzz. Thanks."

Ivan smiled wider. "_Dobro_."

"Of course, such a beautiful, miraculous maiden could not remain a secret for long. Her family grew rich, and soon, all flocked to see her. One day, word reached the family that the prince himself wished to meet the beautiful Biancabella! She of course agreed to this." Feliciano nodded emphatically, but then his face dropped and his voice quavered. "_Ve~_, but her beautiful heart could not see the growing envy of her sisters. She was made even kinder by her good fortune, but their envy made them ten thousand times worse. So envious were they that when the prince appeared at their cottage they locked poor, poor Biancabella in the attic! Ah, so sad!"

"Ach, _traurig_," agreed Ludwig.

"The attic was piled with pearls, awash with silver, for Biancabella so did want to see the prince! She peered out the tiny attic window to watch for him. When he came, he was so splendidly arrayed in gold and jewels, on a white horse with bells on its bridle, that she forgot her tears and laughed with wonder."

"A bit bipolar,_ eh bien_?" Francis mused.

"There grew immediately beautiful trees below the attic window. The prince was amazed, and asked which of the sisters had done such a marvelous thing. Prideful, wicked, they each claimed that they had done it. The prince said to them, 'Well, may the one who laughs these seeds take from these trees their fruit.' Neither of the sisters could touch the branches, let alone the fruit, no matter how they tried. The prince grew angry and said, 'If none can harvest the fruit, let these two then lose their lying heads!'

"Biancobella, sweet, pure, called from her attic prison, 'Oh no, good sir, spare my sisters and I will gladly give you the fruit, the fruit of the trees.' The prince ordered her released, and the wicked sisters watched as the prince ate of the fruit that Biancabella, sweet Biancabella, plucked for him."

"_Za_ _Biancabelli!"_ Ivan exclaimed cheerfully.

Matthew took the shot, wincing as it burned all the way to his stomach. He watched with something like horror as more vodka was surreptitiously tipped into his brother's unattended soda.

"He ate of the fruit and proposed marriage to her, to sweet Biancabella! Oh how her sisters envied her, oh how they hated her!"

"_I_ hate her," mumbled into the glass of port.

"And how do you think, _mon cher Angleterre_, that the rest of us feel when you insist on being made godparent to your unicorn's children in the middle of a meeting?"

"That was an emergency! Cherrybright said that—"

A firm kick to the underside of his chaise nearly unseated him, and Arthur turned to glare at Ludwig, who was paying rapt attention to the increasing wild movements of the mendicant Italian.

"As the bride-to-be, the expectant bride prepared for her wedding feast, her sisters grabbed her! They took her to the woods! And there, they cut out her eyes and chopped off her hands, and left her alone in the forest!" Feliciano burst into tears. "Ah, _tristissimo!_"

Even Kiku blinked at the last details. "_Genni_? Her hands?"

Ludwig patted the sobbing Italian very awkwardly on the back; his own eyes were suspiciously shiny. To his obvious disconcertion, Feliciano jumped into his lap and wailed, "To be so wronged by your own blood siblings! She cried and cried at being left alone in the dark forest—"

"And not at having her hanz cut off?" Alfred slurred. He took another swig of the Coke, smacked his lips a bit, and turned to scowl at the bottle, wondering through a thickening haze why it tasted more and more like rubbing alcohol.

Sobbed into Ludwig's shirt, "—and her eldest sister was wed by trickery and deceit to her prince, her groom!" He lifted his head. "And Biancabella might have _died_ in the forest if not for the snake, the harmless and beautiful golden snake which had blessed her. The snake came upon her and exclaimed, 'My poor, beautiful child! What has happened to you!' And Biancabella explained it all.

"As the snake nursed her back to health in the forest, the eldest sister became pregnant with the prince's child."

"My, _tellement_ scandalous!" said Francis.

"He honestly didn't notice it wasn't the same sister?" Arthur asked skeptically.

The Italian sniffled. He had stopped crying, but, one couldn't help but notice, showed no signs of climbing out of an increasingly uncomfortable-looking Ludwig's lap.

"It became known that the eldest sister, the new princess craved figs above all else, but the season was wrong and she wasted away in her craving. The golden snake hatched a plan, and transformed herself into _una venditore_, a peddler-woman. She brought fresh, ripe, glistening figs to the palace and cried, 'Figs for sale, figs for sale!' The eldest sister came to the window and said, 'Oh, oh, for a single fig I would pay thousands of gold pieces.' 'I only take payment in eyes', said the peddler-woman. The eldest sister remembered the eyes of the beautiful Biancabella, which she had cut out and put in her pocket, and gave these to the peddler-woman."

"Ergh, thazz disgusting!"

Feliciano shook his head vehemently. "_Ve~_ _America, _but the snake took the eyes back to Biancabella and put them back in and she could see again!"

"Thazz e'en MORE disguzting!"

Feliciano had grabbed Ludwig's hands and crossed them in front of himself, so that the tall German was effectively embracing him. He snuggled back and the man gave an embarrassed little cough. "Ah, Feliciano—"

"Then, the eldest sister began to crave peaches!" The Italian said, firmly overriding him. "These, too, were out of season. The snake once again left Biancabella in the forest and went to the palace with a bushel of fresh, ripe, glistening peaches and cried, 'Peaches for sale, peaches for sale!' The eldest sister came to the window and said, 'Oh, oh, for a single peach I would pay thousands of gold pieces.' 'I only take payment in hands', said the peddler-woman."

"Were the hands in her other pocket?" Arthur asked.

"How did you know?" exclaimed Feliciano, honestly surprised.

"A wild guess. Let me make another—the sister gives this woman the hands for the peaches, and the snake-woman magically restores them to the sweet, lovely, beautiful, pure, kind Biancabella?"

"Just so!"

"I thought so. Then what?"

Francis looked at him in surprise. "Arthur, do you actually want to know?"

The nation threw up his hands. The forgotten glass of port, half-full, splashed down the back of the chaise. "No! I don't! I want to be working on our proposal, which is due in two days! The sooner he finishes, the better."

"You'll be needing more wine, _je vois_," Francis observed dryly.

"Hmm? Didn't I just…?"

Kiku, directly behind him, looked down at the red spotting his pants and began planning genocide.

"Biancabella was restored! The eldest sister gave birth to the prince's child, but it was a scorpion."

"Okay, that's really weird," muttered Matthew.

"Hmmm? Who was that?" said Feliciano.

"_Za svad'bi!_"

"It's Canada," he sighed into his third shot, and took it.

"_Bene_, nevertheless, the prince held a ball. The golden snake told Biancabella that they would attend as _narratrices_. The beautiful Biancabella played and sang as beautifully as she did everything, and soon they two were asked to perform at the prince's table."

"And he still didn't recognize her?"

"_No, non fanno mai_," Feliciano shrugged. "She sang the song of her own fate." Feliciano began to sing, something wavering and barely melodic. Arthur resolutely clapped his hands over his ears.

"_There was a girl_

_A peasant girl_

_Who was blessed by riches three_

_Pearls and silver_

_Seeds and plenty_

_Food and plenty_

_Was she blessed with._

_Envy struck her_

_Pluck'd her eyes_

_And took her hands_

_And left her in the forest._

_Envy has taken her place_

_In the palace, in the bed_

_And Envy has born only evil_

_From her womb._

The snake-_narratrice _asked the eldest sister what should be done to this envious person who had so wronged the peasant girl. The sister, not recognizing her own face in Envy—"

"Oh, now _really_?"

"—pronounced immediately that the envious one was must suffer the same fate, that is, must have her eyes plucked and hands taken and must be left in the forest. The snake stood to her full height, revealed herself as a great enchantress!" Feliciano shot up from his perch on Ludwig's knee and struck the other nation squarely in the jaw; he keeled back off the ottoman onto the floor. Feliciano, not noticing, stood on tiptoes and waved his arms vigorously.

"And the enchantress said, 'Lo, it must be so! Behold Biancabella, the prince's true bride!' And Biancabella was suddenly dressed in costly garments, in ermine and silk and cloth-of-gold!"

"That does sound costly," agreed Francis, watching the snow fall past the window.

"And _then_— ve, _Doitsu_, why are you on the ground?"

From his position on the floor, Ludwig made a vague waving motion and groaned, "_Ich bin… gut…_"

"Eh_, va bene_… Biancabella, the beautiful Biancabella, laughed and cried and soon the room was full of pearls and pomegranates!"

"Delightful," Kiku muttered. He had a protractor out and was busily drawing something that on close inspection looked like an army of killer robots converging on one lone figure in a pirate hat.

"The prince knew then that this was his true bride! He immediately ordered the sentence the false bride, the eldest sister had delivered on herself, to be carried out! But Biancabella, pure, kind Biancabella, stayed his hand. 'Even though she has done these things, I cannot do the same,' she said to him."

"What a pure girl," said Ludwig, leaning up on the ottoman with sincere admiration in his eyes. Feliciano patted his head.

"The eldest sister was only banished, with her scorpion son. And Biancabella and the prince were married _e vissero tutti felici e contenti_!"

"'Happily ever after'," Francis translated. "_Quelle belle conte_, Feliciano."

Arthur perked up from where he'd let his head droop against the high back of his chair. "Is he done? Can we go back to the meeting?"

Francis took a survey of the assembled. Feliciano was crouched by the German brute, who was still on the floor, chattering animatedly. Alfred was swaying a bit in place, which was strange, as he was sure that he'd only given him that wretched cola he liked so much. Ivan was creepily happy, as usual. Kiku was drawing something furiously, and had taken out a red pen to… hmmm. _Angleterre_ was scowling at him.

That was odd… there were eight of them, weren't there? This was a G8–sponsored meeting, after all. So who…?

"_Ah, cher Mathieu_! When did you get here?"

At this, Arthur sat up and turned around. "What? Matthew?"

The rosy-cheeked, teary-eyed face of his favorite nation looked up at him with the most endearing expression of sad resignation. "I've been here the whole time."

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" Arthur asked him.

"Because no one left a seat for me…" He hiccupped. _Tellement adorable!_

Francis smiled. It was the kind of smile that Matthew had learned to run away from, long ago. Unfortunately, there wasn't anywhere to run to at the moment, nor did he think his unsteady legs could carry him there if there was. "Oh, we can't stop now, _Angleterre!_ I want to tell a fairy story too!"

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Author's Corner:

Thanks for reading! I ardently love this fandom, and shipping countries is sincerely the most awesome thing ever… history geeks and yaoi fangirls unite!

On the technical side of things, I'm experimenting with shorter chapters. My updates are usually ten plus pages… which might be why I have so few updates. Hmmm, maybe I'll even try drabbles.


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